


things aren't the same anymore

by palateens



Series: QINASFS [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Genderfluid Jack, Kinda, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Kent, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: “May I?” Kent asks with a smirk.They nod.ORthe one where Kent and Zimms do manager shit





	things aren't the same anymore

It’s a week before the regular hockey season starts. Kent and Zimms have a rhythm figured out at Samwell. They have their own routines and take their own classes (with the exception of a history and a calc course, because gen eds are a pain). They’re relearning how to be a team without being on top of each other. That’s easier said than done some days.

They’ve divided up the work of being managers to suit their strengths. Kent does most of the trip and equipment organizing. Zimm records games and practices. Which means over the last month they’ve been steadily growing annoyed with some of the members of SMH.

“Tch,” they say under their breath.

Kent looks up from his clipboard. “What?”

“Marsh is doing it again,” they complain quietly.

He looks over at Carter Marsh, who’s flubbing his slap shot...again. Kent scrunches his nose.

“Yea that’s shitty,” he says. “You gonna tell Hall and Murray?”

“I don’t know. I want to, I think,” Zimms admits. “It doesn’t feel like my place.”

Kent puts his hand on their shoulder. “If you want help talking to them, I’m here. But it’s your call, babe.”

Their lip twitches enough for Kent to notice. “Thanks, Kenny. Eugh, I’ll think about it.”

“Sure, just lemme know,” he says before Hall shouts his name. “Welp, duty calls. Probably Cohen needing his blades sharpened again.”

“Have fun,” they chirp.

Kent waves them off.

They spend the rest of practice watching the team carefully. There’s a lot of room for improvement, Zimms thinks. It’s just a matter of execution.

_/.\\_

The day before SMH’s first regular season game, Zimms brings up Marsh again.

“What if we taught him how to fix it?”

Kent takes another bite of his scrambled eggs. “What? Like coached him on the side?”

“Yea, why not?”

“We are qualified, you got me there,” Kent says with a sigh. “So what that’s the plan, Zimms?”

Zimms glances at the table where the hockey players are having team breakfast. “Let’s tell him.”

“Just like that,” he deadpans. “We’re just—going up to the proverbial cool table.”

They shrug.

“Wow,” Kent says. “New year, new us huh?”

“Guess so,” they say, standing up with their food without waiting for Kent.

They take a seat next to Johnson, across from Alex Berger and Carter Marsh. Kent sits down next to them.

“Hey guys,” Johnson says cheerfully before frowning. “Or, uh, peeps I guess.”

“Sup,” Kent says at the same time that Zimms says, “Your slapshot is pathetic.”

They keep talking despite Kent’s unamused glare. “You’re losing a lot of power when you shoot. You’re overexerting yourself, which is an inefficient use of your energy, and decreases your accuracy.”

Marsh and Berger gape at them for a moment.

“Yea, what they said,” Kent says through a bite of toast.

“Why the fuck do you care, Zimmermann?” Marsh asks. “You get paid to film tape, that’s it.”

Zimms makes eye contact with Kent.

“May I?” Kent asks with a smirk.

They nod.

“Well first, lots of schools have managers who help with practices when the coaches are short staffed,” he says before taking a long chug of their orange juice. “Second, fuck you, NHL or not we can still skate circles around your flabby ass.”

“Kent,” Zimms says.

Kent rolls his eyes. “Your ass is probably appropriately sized.”

“ _Kent,_ ” they say again.

“That is the last I will say about the sorry state of this team’s thighs.” He then fake coughs, “conditioning clinic.”  

Johnson hums. “They’ve got a point, Marsh. You’re a lousy shot.”

Bergey sneers. “Whose side are you on, Johnson?”

Johnson shrugs innocently.

“Fine, I’ll bite,” Marsh says. “What do I do?”

“Rink, tomorrow, five am,” Zimms says.

“Practice isn’t until nine,” he protests.

“People rent the rink out before that,” Kent says, “duh.”

Marsh quietly fumes for the rest of breakfast. None of the other players complain about Kent and Zimms sitting with them. Johnson and Kent keep the conversation flowing as smoothly as possible. It’s a good day, Zimms thinks. They don’t get the same feeling of dread in their gut that happens anytime they come up with a new hockey plan. This is different, they realize.

Kent shoots them a reassuring smile on their way out of the dining hall.

It’s exciting, Zimms realizes.

_/.\\_

Marsh’s slap shot isn’t perfect after just two hours. However, it is passable, and much better, fundamentally speaking. He even scores in the second period. Murray calls Zimms over after the game.

“Berger mentioned what you did for Marsh. Thanks,” he says. “You helped him a lot.”

“Eugh, you’re welcome,” Zimms says. “It was my pleasure.”

Murray smiles softly. “We could use your help at practice. You and Kent, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, I’ll have to think about it.”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Kent’s waiting for them in front of the coaches’ office. He looks good in his Samwell warm ups. It’s really surreal to think that.

“Hey,” he says. “What did Murray want?”

“He wants us to help out with practice,” they explain.

Kent hums. “Cool, are we gonna do it?”

Zimms shrugs. “Sometimes would be nice.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Hey guys,” Johnson shouts behind them. “Wait up.”

“Dude,” Kent says incredulously. “Weren’t you going to that par-kegster or whatever? It’s your first one.”

Johnson shrugs. “Nah, natty light is extremely overrated. I thought I could hang out with you guys.”

“I’m good with that, what about you babe?” Kent asks.

“Of course,” they say.

“C’mon, Johnny,” Kent says as he slings an arm around Johnson. “Can I call you Johnny?”

“I like it,” Johnson says.

Zimms smirks, intertwining their hands with Kent. For the first time since they got to Samwell, it really felt like they’d found their place.

**Author's Note:**

> fic title - lyrics from G.I.N.A.S.F.S. by FOB 
> 
> more from this series to come!


End file.
